


Intermission

by Am (AmaranthineAmusement)



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Gen, kind of implied edamura/laurent??, there are flirty letters but not like. super flirty lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthineAmusement/pseuds/Am
Summary: During his time in prison, before the events of Singapore Skies, Makoto can't avoid being pulled into one more con...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Intermission

_Edamame,_

_You know, I think Aby misses you. Sometimes she just glares into space, without your cute little cheeks to blame for everything._

_I enclosed a picture with this letter. Let’s see if they let it through._

_-Laurent_

* * *

_Edamame,_

_Really? Not even a reply? They must have not let the picture through, then. It was quite a beautiful landscape._

_Oh, sorry, did you think I would send something else? Quite naughty, aren’t you. Must be very boring, in prison. You should join me. Stop listening to your conscience, and all that._

_-Laurent_

* * *

_Edamura,_

_There, I used the right name and everything. You know, the name Edamura sounds familiar to me. I wonder where I’ve heard it before…_

_Ah, well, you’ll just have to enlighten me. I wish I could send these letters in French, but the censors got tetchy at me and returned it right away. Who else is writing you, I wonder? Have you got another conspirator out there?_

_Don’t tell me you have another partner, I’ll be desperately jealous…_

_xoxoxo_

_-Laurent_

* * *

The X’s and O’s were when Makoto started throwing out the letters without opening them. Or, well… placing them in the space under his folded up blanket without opening them, at least. Still, they arrived every month like clockwork.

Well, that was Laurent. He’d probably decided that Makoto was easily manipulated, like always. But this time, Makoto really was on the straight and narrow, letters or no letters.

He sat back on his heels and huffed to himself after shoving the latest one under his blanket, following his roommates out into the breakfast room. As always, there was little talking on the way. In the summer, like it was now, they didn’t bother to air condition the prison; it was hot and humid, the temperature settling over his skin and trickling down the small of his back.

Rice. Eggs. Makoto kept his eyes on the bowl in front of him.

The doors at the end of the room clanged open, and a new set of prisoners were let in- just in time for them to eat breakfast and be ready to start work, then. Makoto let himself watch, finishing his breakfast and drinking water as they were given jumpsuits, and…

“Hey, kid!”

“…Kudo?”

“Quiet!”

The guard passed behind them, and Makoto kept his eyes back down. He automatically glanced at Kudo’s wrist, but that was hardly helpful in here. “…How did you get in here,” he muttered.

“Got caught,” said Kudo, upbeat as always, strangely. “You know how it goes. At least the food is better nowadays. Used to be pretty bad when I was younger. Sato, how have you been? Feels like it’s been forever!”

The man across from them, a heavily tattooed gangster, just nodded. Makoto sighed and let himself stand up as all the prisoners were directed to leave the room.

“If you’re here because of Laurent,” he said, under his breath, “I’m not doing anything. I won’t get involved. I’m being honest now.”

“Don’t worry, kid, I would never bring you into that stuff,” said Kudo. “I’m just trying to do my time, same as you. I’m proud of you for going legitimate!”

…so he was lying. Makoto licked at the back of his teeth and tried not to get annoyed. That damn French bastard.

Work went by in a pleasant haze. The feeling of engines under his fingers was something Makoto was enjoying more and more, and his boss was actually fine most of the time- something he hadn’t expected. As he finished an oil change, he looked up to find that it was already the end of the workday.

The cicadas were loud as Makoto tossed and turned, but he eventually gave up and pulled out the latest letter. When he squinted closer at the print in the darkness, though, it wasn’t in Laurent’s loose, loopy handwriting- it was in sloppy print.

Who-

* * *

_Hey. Edamame. Laurent’s got some stupid idea. Just go along with it, ok? It’ll be less of a headache for everyone._

* * *

Aby.

Makoto crumpled it up, irritated, before thinking better of it and folding it up, placing it with the others under his pillow. Why couldn’t they just let him spend two years in jail? It wasn’t really so bad.

“Ugh!” He dug at his eyes with the palms of his hands, turning over in irritation.

From his other side, Sato gave a rumble of irritation. Makoto shut up at once. He knew his place on the food chain.

As he drifted off to sleep, though, he couldn’t help but feel a spike of annoyance. If they were so dead-set on letting him have time to himself, they could have convinced him to stay in the first place- or better yet, they could have been nicer…

* * *

_Edamame,_

_So, I know I said I would let you be honest, and I really did mean it at the time! Buuut, when I was bored out of my mind and doing background checks on everyone at the prison you’re in, something interesting came up._

_I won’t give you too many details, but.. well, suffice to say that I think we might come for a visit. Do say hello to dear Kudo for me, won’t you?_

_-Laurent_

* * *

_Laurent,_

_No!_

_-Eda mura_

* * *

_Edamame,_

_Yes!_

_-Laurent_

* * *

It took a full month for anything else to happen- a month of Makoto watching Kudo like a hawk. Kudo, implacable as always, was always ready to make cheerful smalltalk, usually about tea or his wife and daughter.

Makoto, unwilling to outright ask more than once, was left to die slowly inside. “And you’re sure they just… caught you by luck.”

“Well, everyone’s luck runs out eventually,” said Kudo.

A guard came over, hand on his baton. “Number 214. Visitor for you.”

“See you later.” Makoto followed the guard over to the meeting room. The plexiglass glinted faintly in the fluorescent lighting.

“Thirty minutes.”

Makoto nodded; as soon as the guard had stepped back, he turned to face his visitor.

“All right, you blonde bastard, I-“ He paused. “…Hi, Cynthia.”

“Edamame! Love the haircut. It makes you look so much younger.” She smiled at him. “I didn’t expect the allowances for visitors to be so loose here.”

“…I’m not a high security prisoner,” he said. “Why are you here, exactly.”

“Well, we were in town, thought we would stop by,” she said. “Laurent hopes you’ve been getting enough exercise.”

“I have been. Thanks. You look like you’re doing well.” Manners won out, although a significant part of Makoto wanted to storm out.

“I am! Tell Kudo I said hello. We’ve been waiting to say hello, but he seems more difficult to get a hold of.”

Cynthia’s phone went off; the guard moved forward, and she held up a hand in apology. “I’m so sorry, that should have been on silent. I’ll just cut our visit off here.”

Makoto watched her leave. Then, slowly, he sighed.

* * *

“Cynthia says hello,” Makoto said, on the way to their thrice-weekly showers. Kudo didn’t miss a beat- just leaned in and said,

“I’ll fill you in later, then! This should be fun!”

Great. Well, at least Makoto had interpreted that message correctly. He waited for his turn in the showers, turning over the information he had. The people at the prison- this was probably about a warden, then. But what would they be doing here that a prisoner could pull off?

In the evenings, all the prisoners sat in the rec room to listen to the radio. Next to him in the middle row- less likely to pull attention, Kudo leaned over and spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“The head warden has been embezzling wages. Laurent thought you might want to help take some of them back.”

“How?”

“Cynthia’s going to be seducing him. She’ll convince him to keep the information on him, and we’ll steal it Once we get it, we’ll smuggle it out.”

“This could be done in a way less contrived way,” muttered Makoto.

“Aw, come on, you don’t want to do any of it? Just to have a little fun?”

“I- okay,” muttered Makoto. “But only because he’s stealing my wages.” He didn’t think about how he hadn’t seen Aby or Laurent. Or how he was, well, a little bored.

On the radio, their local baseball team hit a home run. The prisoners let out a cheer before quieting. Makoto breathed in, and out, and thought about how loud the traffic had been in LA.

* * *

The prisoners were required to have two health examinations a month. Makoto went in, letting Kudo talk his way into standing next to the door. The nurse was a young guy, bored with his job. Makoto let himself have a coughing fit.

Outside, Kudo was laughing with the guard, distracting him from watching through the window.

“Is that new?”

“I think it’s just allergies,” said Makoto, and let himself look over the nurse’s shoulder, avoiding eye contact. Classic toxic masculinity- not willing to admit sickness. “Although it’s never been this bad before. I wake up in the middle of the night.”

The nurse made a clicking noise with his tongue. “I’ll get some vitamin C tablets for you.”

Infectious diseases were one of the biggest concerns in prisons. Too bad Makoto had been feeling just fine. As soon as the Nurse’s back was turned, Makoto stood up. “I’m feeling a little faint. Could I-“

He let himself topple, hitting the rolling table as he went. His hand went out, passing over the tray of surgical instruments as he went down and rolled over. When he opened his eyes, he was on the table.

“Probably dehydration,” said the nurse. He was actually pretty attractive, thought Makoto. In a bland way. “Drink all of your water in the mornings. And take these tablets.”

Makoto nodded.

“I’m having you stay here for another few minutes until you’re recovered,” said the nurse. “Don’t make any sudden movements. The guard will be supervising.”

Makoto let his eyes flutter shut for a few minutes, listening to the nurse talk to the next patient; when he was escorted out, in the excitement, the guard forgot to pat him down.

“Did you get it?” muttered Kudo, walking with him towards the dormitory.

“Well,” said Makoto, “I _am_ the greatest conman in Japan.”

Up his sleeves, carefully separated, were multiple surgical tweezers and needles.

* * *

Lunch was always a relatively silent affair; not many prisoners were qualified to work on cars, so there were only about twenty of them there, and they tended to spread out across the yard. So it didn’t seem strange when Makoto split off from the group, heading towards the back of the garage.

In between bites of his sandwich, he pulled the tweezers out of his sleeve. The lock on the back gate was large and impressive, but more for show than anything else- the pins were easily realigned.

A few clicks, and it was open. He left it so that it still looked closed, easily pulled open by anyone athletic enough to climb the gate… not that he had someone specific in mind, of course.

As a final touch, Makoto left the tweezers in the grass, pressing them down with the heel of his boot so they were concealed in the dirt. Fingerprints- covered. Tracks- concealed.

“Number 214.”

“What?”

He looked up, guilty. The warden, rarely out- at all- was standing in front of him, greying hair over wrinkled face. The man himself wouldn’t have been intimidating at all, if he wasn’t surrounded by other guards. Makoto felt himself freezing, foot still pressing the tweezers into the ground.

“Take him to my office.” The warden turned to one of the guards. “Take whatever he’s hiding in the grass, too.”

Oh, no.

Makoto found himself lifted by the upper arms and dragged over, not even given the chance to cooperate- the dirty tweezers brought along.

The warden’s office was in the nicer part of the prison, but still pretty warm. Makoto felt himself shoved against a metal chair, cuffed back and head pressed back against the wall. The warden, skinny and old, sat back in the chair.

“Send in the informants,” he said to the guards, then watched Makoto. “I didn’t think you were a runner,” he said. “You get to where I am, you get an eye for it. The type to run are always so obvious. Cowards. You seemed to be more of the type to wait it out.”

He was smoking. Makoto watched it, trying not to cough. Damnit!

“Thanks for the tip,” he said.

“It was my absolute pleasure to help,” said Laurent, who was wearing a _prison warden outfit._ “It’s never the typical prisoners that get by, you know. It’s the madmen.”

“He doesn’t look crazy to me,” said the warden, looking Makoto over. “Bit strange, maybe.”

“If he looked crazy to you, then what would my purpose be,” said Laurent, who was laying it on a bit too thick. Makoto tried not to snarl as Laurent lay a hand on the prison warden’s neck, gesturing. “Anyway, I hope this helps to prove that I really know what I’m doing. Who would have expected such a man to make a break for it?”

“It’s true, I didn’t have him down as a flight risk,” said the warden consideringly, biting at the end of his cigarette. Another puff of smoke. “Fine, you can come in here to inspect the walls. But I want it done quickly. We’ve got our required sports day coming up.”

“I didn’t try to escape,” said Makoto, who now had decided that he was angrier at Laurent. “You know what! That blond man set me up on all of this! He’s an international con man! And he’s only here because I don’t respond to his letters and it makes him feel lonely!”

“You see what I mean,” said Laurent, who reached out and took the cigarette.

“I think I do,” said the warden. “214, you’re in solitary for a month.”

“I’ve found that in these cases, solitary exacerbates the condition,” said Laurent. “Perhaps extended work hours instead? He could help point out weaknesses in the walls for me!”

The warden laughed- Makoto watched as the cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes trembling. “You are a strange man, Laurent. Sure. You can have him. But if he gets out, it’s on your head.”

“I will give it my utmost attention,” said Laurent.

When the guard escorted Makoto out, Laurent had the balls to try and wink at him. Makoto turned away.

Asshole.

* * *

“Well, I didn’t know they were setting you up,” said Kudo.

“They’re always setting me up! You should have known!” Makoto was shredding Laurent’s letters into teeny, tiny pieces. Although he was saving a few. For evidence.

“By that logic, you should have known too,” said Kudo. “Besides, you seem to be doing fine. You didn’t actually end up in solitary.”

“Ugh!”

Before Makoto could argue further, he found himself escorted out to the prison yard, walking next to Laurent- who was enjoying the role of prison guard entirely too much.

“Tell me, number 214, do you feel reformed?”

“…” Makoto glared at Laurent. They were pacing around the edge of the wall; Makoto’s job was to mark off places in chalk when Laurent directed him to. As with most con jobs, the main point seemed to be to look like they were doing a lot of work.

“You know, in my day, I often meet prisoners who aren’t sure of where they want to go,” said Laurent. “What they really need is a direction.” He pointed to a space. “Mark here.” He winked. “A way out, if you will.”

He clapped Makoto on the back. “Good job. I think you might just have a chance of getting free, after all.”

The next time Makoto had a moment to himself was dinner; he reached up and pulled the note out of his shirt. In loose, looping handwriting-

_Take the far exit._

Makoto made it most of the way through his dinner, across from Kudo, before the fire alarms went off. He looked up at his old partner, who had been on dinner duty that night. “Really?”

“I do as instructed.” A wink.

Makoto got up, following the groups of prisoners as they streamed through the prison. Even during the fire, everyone was moving in an orderly fashion- although a bit quicker than usual. Guards, for once, weren’t checking prisoner numbers. He found himself able to move outwards, spreading out towards the edge of the prison yard.

Towards the garage, and the picked lock.

“The prodigal son returns.” Aby had cut her hair to match the prisoners, but her face was too distinctive to really fit in. In the dark, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Good, you’re here,” said Laurent. “Right, let’s go.”

Makoto looked between them. Sure enough, there was a car. In the ringing of the alarms, the sound of the engine would be perfectly concealed. Kudo was already in the backseat.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said I was being honest!”

“It’s been a year, Edamame.” Laurent gestured to the night. “The night’s still young. We have champagne. Come _on.”_

“I’m. Not. Coming.”

Laurent looked like he wanted to say more, but before he could, the alarms changed in tone- the fire had been put out. Their window for escape was closing. Makoto backed up, walking towards the groups of prisoners, and got back into line.

He heard the engine start, wheels turning on dirt. With a clang of the garage door, his partners in crime were gone.

…just a year more to go.

* * *

_Edamame,_

_I’ve been speaking with Cynthia, and you know, I’m not sure if you even qualify for a section of the profits if you chose to stay in prison. Doesn’t that count as forfeit?_

_Of course, you can always claim them if you just write back…_

_-Laurent_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... hi! Hope you liked this? I was going to make it more shippy but then it didn't end up that way, so... there ya go. Eh, it happens.


End file.
